Blurry Beginnings
by DrunkBlogging
Summary: ONE- SHOT. PRE-HOGWARTS. Little Harry Potter is having trouble seeing things. When his schoolteacher notices, she sends him for an appointment at the eye doctor. Everyone knows Harry has bad vision, but do we know that he started off with blurry beginnings?


**A/N: Hey! Just to clarify, this _is _a one-shot. If you're looking for a story with chapters, you can check out my other story ;)**

**I'm writing this story because I recently went to the optometrist (that's an eye doctor), and he said I needed glasses :( I immediately thought of Harry Potter, simply because that is how the mind of a fangirl works, and I got the idea for this story. So, without further ado, I present my fanfiction to you. **

**Summary: ONE- SHOT. Little Harry Potter is having trouble seeing things. When his schoolteacher notices, she sends him for an appointment at the eye doctor. Everyone knows Harry has bad vision, but do we know that he started off with blurry beginnings?**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any recognizable characters. I _do _in fact own a pet turtle, does that count for anything?**

Harry Potter was a shy little boy.

He rarely raised his hand in class, never engaged conversation with the other seven-year-olds, and always sat alone at lunch.

His first grade teacher, Mrs. Marshall, had always adored little Harry. He was every teacher's dream student. Smart, quiet, and downright adorable. From his small frame and jet-black hair to his startling emerald eyes, he really was cute.

The only problem was Dudley.

Dudley Dursley, Harry's cousin, was a bully. None of the teachers liked Dudley very much, but they disliked Harry even more. They didn't like little Harry because of the stories about him, though those were really only accidental magic. Harry, of course, didn't know that yet though.

The only one in the whole school who saw through the lies about Harry was Mrs. Marshall. Harry liked Mrs. Marshall. She was a kind, middle-aged woman who never teased Harry or favored other students. She treated all of her pupils with respect.

Now, on the rainy April Monday where our story begins, Harry was sitting in Mrs. Marshall's first grade classroom. Mrs. Marshall had not arrived yet, so the children had some free time before their teacher came and the lesson started.

Most of the kids were clumped into groups, talking animatedly to their friends about what they did over the weekend. Harry, not having any friends to talk to, squinted at the chalkboard, trying to decipher what on earth it said.

He didn't know if he had been imagining it, but everything seemed a bit fuzzy over the past few days. It had gradually gotten worse, until he simply could not read anything unless it was five feet in front of him.

He was still trying fruitlessly to read the board when Mrs. Marshall strode into the small classroom.

"Good morning, class," she beamed.

"Good morning," everyone said in a monotone voice.

"Who would like to read the agenda today?" Many hands shot up into the air, but Mrs. Marshall dismissed them. "How about Harry?" she said. Harry was sitting at his desk in the middle of the classroom, gazing up at Mrs. Marshall, but he did not raise his hand. She always called on the students that were not so eager to try and involve them in the class.

"Erm..." Harry narrowed his eyes at the blob on the board that was the agenda. "May I move up please, Miss?" Mrs. Marshall nodded and Harry stood up, walking to the front of the room. He got exceptionally close to the blackboard before he began reading the agenda.

At lunch, Harry sat alone, eating his stale sandwich that did not taste quite right, but was just barely edible. He jumped when a gentle hand was placed on his shoulder.

"Harry?" It was Mrs. Marshall.

"Yes, ma'am?" asked Harry as he turned to look at his teacher.

"Are you having trouble reading the board in class?" Harry looked down. He did not want to tell his teacher that yes, he was having trouble seeing the board. He knew that if he did, Mrs. Marshall would phone the Dursleys and he'd be in a load of trouble for making them spend money on him to get glasses.

"Yes, ma'am," said Harry quietly. He didn't care if he'd be locked in his cupboard for weeks, he desperately needed to see. It was giving him headaches.

"How about we phone your parents, hm? Shall we set up an eye appointment for you?"

"My parents are dead." It was true; Harry's parents had died in a car crash when he was a baby.

"Oh! Oh, I'm terribly sorry. Shall we send a note your legal guardians, then?"

Everything inside Harry was screaming "NO!" but his eyes, which could hardly make out anything in the distance, were what made Harry nod his head and let Mrs. Marshall lead him to the office.

That day, Harry went home with a letter in his hand a a knot in his stomach. The letter was addressed to "Mr. and Mrs. Dursley," and the knot was because of his nerves. How would they react? Would they take him to see an eye doctor?

"What's this, Boy?" Aunt Petunia asked when Harry had given her the letter.

"A note, ma'am, from Mrs. Marshall."

"That psycho teacher of yours? The things I've heard about her..." You see, Petunia Dursley liked to gossip. She gossiped like it was her job.

Aunt Petunia reluctantly agreed to take Harry to an optometrist, just so the school board wouldn't ask questions. She valued her pristine reputation.

That Friday afternoon, Harry, who couldn't believe his luck, was sitting in the back of the Dursleys' car next to Dudley, who had insisted he come along. Aunt Petunia had broken down, sobbing that her "little Duddikins" was so mature. Harry, however, knew that it was to snap pictures with his brand new digital camera and show them to all his friends, claiming how much of a "nerd" Harry was because he was getting glasses.

"Potter, Harry!" the doctor called out to the waiting room of the eye doctor's office. Harry, Dudley, and Aunt Petunia rose from the squashy couches and followed the doctor into a testing room.

"Now, Harry, can you look into this machine here?" Harry lined up his chin and forehead against the machine and looked into it. "That's good. Now, when I turn this on, you're going to see a barn house that appears to be in the distance. Just stare at that for me." Harry did see a barn, but it was fuzzy, much like everything else in his life. Everything always looked fuzzy.

The doctor then had Harry line his head up on another machine, where small puffs of winds were blown into Harry's eyes. Dudley laughed and snapped a picture when Harry jumped from the surprise of the air in his eyes.

"Cover your left eye, Harry, and read that board down there," the doctor said, pointing to a board with blurry letters on it.

Harry could easily make out the large _E _at the top, and the next three lines, but he simply could not read anything after that. It was just too blurry.

After waiting tediously in the waiting room for ten minutes, the doctor came back to harry and began explaining his eyesight.

"Well, Harry, it seems you have a 1.25 prescription in each eye. That is a very low prescription, yes, but it is a prescription no less. If you will follow me, we can pick out your frames now."

Harry saw many different frames when they entered another room, but one particular pair caught his eye. They were wire-framed circular glasses that looked very lightweight. He gently pulled them off the rack and put them on his face. When he looked into the small mirror that was hanging on the wall, he smiled. They were perfect.

"These ones, please," he said to the doctor, who smiled back at him. Aunt Petunia looked bored and Dudley was busy texting his friends the pictures he took of "Harry the Nerd."

The doctor told him that his glasses had to get his prescription filled in them, and that they would mail them to his house when they were ready. Harry thanked him, Aunt Petunia payed him, and Dudley glared at him. That doctor had wasted much of his valued time! Even though it was Dudley that insisted he come along...

Harry's glasses arrived at number four, Privet Drive two weeks later.

Dudley promptly broke them.

Harry was so angry at his cousin, he could have punched him. He had just gotten his glasses! He was finally able to see!

But Harry did not punch Dudley, he simply took his broken glasses into his cupboard under the stairs and fixed them as best he could with Scotch tape. When Mrs. Marshall complimented his new glasses, but asked why they were taped, Harry simply lied that he had fallen down the stairs.

He was teased often about his taped glasses. It wasn't like it was his fault his eye sucked at being eyes!

Once Hagrid came and told Harry he was a wizard, he became famous for those broken, circular glasses. Everyone recognized the Boy-Who-Lived by his signature spectacles. Well that, and his lighting bolt scar, of course.

Who would have thought that Harry Potter, the Chosen One, the Savior of the Wizarding World, started off with blurry beginnings.

**A/N: Aww! I nearly cried writing this one. Little Harry is my favorite kind of Harry. Reviews appreciated, flames welcome! Goodbye for now, my friends!**


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